Gagner
by Gangsta Videl
Summary: [Seifer x Squall] He only feels the pain in it all, yet he always returns for more, ever the slave to the sadistic knight. [For Bob-chan]


**Ganger**

A/N: I LOVE YOU, BOB-CHAN!!! And in honor of the fact that I love my Bob-chan, here's a story for her birthday! D Because December birthdays rocketh.

Oh, and Newton's third law of physics is this; for every action, there is an equal and opposite _reaction_. It is only used here to show that I am a dorky geek, and to bastardize physics. D

Disclaimer: Squaresoft, who I am not, would be the correct owner.

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Ganger

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He must have been a masochist.

It hadn't started this way, oh no, not at all. When was it that the last shot fired had been aimed at the sky, and not one another? When had they stopped being so... apart?

It must have been before he started to seek the other out. The question in his mind was not truly when---that he could piece together; he had realized it _then_, and Seifer had laughed. _He_ had known all along---or for some time, at least. Definitely not forever.

The question wasn't why, either. He could tell that one, too. It was because he had grown dependent upon Seifer---grown accustomed to their meetings and arguments. Was it his voice, at first, or the grim smiled that had clued him in?

Squall knew not.

What he did know was that the surging emotions seemed both omnipotent and inevitable. For every blow his body took, he twisted to fight back, bastardizing the notion of Newton's third law of physics. He could not stop his body---and through the veil of disgust he himself had created, he was able to see that it did not matter as much as first he had supposed.

The here and now rocketed back, and no longer was he a man lost in thought, devoid of sensory, body, or emotion. As of a terrible vacuum, every miniscule detail came back---and he was alive again, back once more, to new pain and hurt.

The dark abyss of the Garden's lower levels---however rank and rusted they were or still might be---looked pleasant now. There was a cement block of roughly three feet in area pressing into one of his shoulders, already raw from the friction against it. The bench he was forced down on---some emphasis to be placed on the fact that he was on his back and not his stomach---was not as wide as he, and the edges too, pressed into his back at nastily painful angles.

His chest, too, felt as though it were burning---but for a different reason than wood and cement. Squall refused to be vocal during sex, as much as it pissed Seifer off. Good for him, then---it was under Squall's control, unlike his (treacherous) body.

Nothing could hurt so much as his pride. He knew---without words---that this was only what he'd asked for sheerly by coming in on his own free will. If it were not, he could easily have avoided it by never once entering the building and bringing himself to this appointed place.

But he was dependent on Seifer, and so in he went.

Now he lay here, half-disgusted with himself, and half-pleased. He enjoyed his control, and he could not sat that this situation was completely dispicable, not with any truth in mind. How could he? His body disproved his mind.

He ought to have hated it---Squall knew that very well. Forced under the will of his greatest rival, and made to bow under the knowledge that he had come for this---that it was he who was weak, and not Seifer---he should have been filled with loathing. But it was not with malice that his eyes sought out Seifer in a crowd, no---it was the shameful act of _dominance_ and his own inability to stand alone that brought him here---not hate. He almost looked forward to it, but that would have been an actual lie---he did not look forward to the thrashing his body would take, only the release thereafter in which he could regain some control back from the blonde gunblade master.

Seifer pressed down on his shoulders with hard, caloused palms. Squall almost heard his thoughts die as the wooden bench again bit into his flesh. For every bleeding, aching bit of his abused body, there was still no complaint---neither vocal, no, or physical. He was never very vocal to begin with, and even less here. It drove Seifer mad---and he was proud to be the one in the driver's seat there.

He wouldn't want to admit it---and when questioned, surely the SeeD would deny such a trivial but humbling fact as such. He and Seifer? Was comprehension so far lost that none could remember the slurs they had made in reference to one another in all the years past?

Of course they did. Which made this course of action all the more... interesting, to say the very least. Because he was Squall, and the male above him---however much he would have liked it to be different---was the self-proclaimed knightly annoyance, Seifer Almasy.

Every inch of his back was aflame. This, however, would not stop the infamous Seifer from winning this particular battle, oh no---once again, he was bound and determined to make the younger man scream out in any way---pleasure, disgust, pain. But even he had his limits---farther to reach than Squall's, whose very body half lifted from the bench at each thrust as though he were pleading internally, though the icy look in his half-frosted eyes spoke differently.

And then it was thus; and it was only with a grunt that the SeeD fell back, motionless, and then Seifer---after some few moments---cast his smile at the wet, pitiful excuse for a body. Used and immediately discarded, the condom landed on the floor.

"Where would you be without me, hm?" he asked, and no answer came.

The masochist had no reply.

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Fin

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A/N: Because you're worth it, Bob-chan. D I hope you enjoyed it. It was supah fun to write. XD Especially the end. Kind of... odd, yes, I admit that, but I was bored and I knew I wanted to write something for you, so this came to be. And the title means "to win" in French. D Because I'm a dork, reprise. XP

---Gangsta Videl


End file.
